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Tuesday, July 28, 2015

It has suddenly become summer here on the Coast. My yard is dried up green. My flowers are faded. The squirrels have built a raft and refuse to get out of the birdbath. My hair is so frizzy I must turn sideways to get through the door.

And my brain has shriveled to prune size. Not 'dried plum'. I am talking withered and wrinkly prune.

I have no hope of seeing a beach. But my swimsuit hangs at the ready.

It is so lonely and not salty here by the door...

See you again, soon!

Oh! PS- you can now check the Coast of Illinois out on Instagram!! @coastofillinois

Monday, July 20, 2015

And you go to your favorite local Tiki
Bar – Taha'a Twisted Tiki – for some delicious chicken skewers
and the best Hemingway Daiquiri on the entire Coast of Illinois.

It is no wonder Hemingway was such a good writer....

You have no intention of staying very
late, its been a long week and you're pretty beat.

But the SEVENTY-SEVEN year old lady
next to you strikes up a conversation and before you know it your
husband has ordered a second round of the best Hemingway Daiquiris on
the entire Coast of Illinois. And you have learned that the
SEVENTY-SEVEN year old lady is a retired Air Force nurse who is there
with her daughter (who is attending a scholarship foundation
get-together, the attendees of which the lady feels she has nothing
in common). She is getting ready to move into a retirement community
and convert her 10 bedroom home into a boarding house of sorts for
returning military women who need a place to stay until they find permanent housing. You meet her daughter, who is delightful, and as
they say their goodbyes you consider doing the same.

But then a DJ begins to play music and
next thing you know Charlotte Sumtimes – the MC and hostess of the
Twisted Variety Show takes the stage, and well, now it would just be
rude to walk out.

The hostess with the mostest.

So you sit back and prepare to be
amazed by burlesque dancers Sofie de Sadé,
Paris Amor and
Bryce Bordello. However, your
husband is sitting sort of behind you and when the Hostess asks for
volunteers, he points to YOU. A fact that you learn much later and for which he is still paying.

This is Sofie preparing for her balloon dance. The balloons don't stand a chance.

And suddenly you find yourself in front
of the packed room at your favorite Tiki Bar – Taha'a Twisted Tiki
– along side a lovely woman a good 30 years younger than you and an
attractive man, also a good 30 years younger than you – as
contestants in a dance off.

So, you implore the Hostess to please,
please, please play a song you know as you beg the four other people
in the place over 40 to be kind and support our team. And you know
that you just have to jump in with both feet and never mind being
embarrassed and if the worst happens you can always find a lesser
Tiki Bar and make your own lesser daiquiris at home.

But the Hostess is kind and suddenly
Like A Virgin by Madonna begins and you muster up your courage and
your minor degree in 80's dance moves and work your way along the
narrow, packed aisles, shimming here, feigning a kiss there until you
manage to make it back to the front where the attractive man, a good
30 years younger, has now re-appeared without his shirt yet still
wearing a tie so you grab the tie and begin a tastefully dirty dance
until you both break free, leaving you a few final moments to do a
little swing with the guy in the Hawaiian shirt who is more age
appropriate.

All the while your husband is trying
not to fall off his seat while rolling with laughter at his little
joke.

The music ends and the Hostess asks for
applause to judge the dancers and while the audience is polite and
well-behaved you are prepared to give the most gratefully modest bow
and wander back to your chair in defeat. But...

When it is your turn for judgement the
crowd erupts into cheers and applause and a chorus of
'MILF-MILF-MILF' and even your competitors, the darling woman and the attractive young man a
good 30 years younger, is turned your way, grinning a big grin and
applauding like crazy. And while you hope they are truly applauding
your sweet dance moves, you know deep down they are probably just
easing some of the Motherly Guilt, knowing that if it were THEIR moms
were up there they would hope the same nice things would happen to her.

And since Hostesses have mothers too,
she declares you the winner!

You do your most humble 'and scene!'
bow, sweep your hands wide to embrace the throng as you throw your
own applause back to them and scurry to your seat to google 'MILF'
and collect your free drink.

Which now really needs to be water.

But
turns out to be one more of those darn daiquiris. (The best Hemingway daiquiris in all the Coast of Illinois.)

And that is why you just can't take me
anywhere. (Thankfully, I am blissfully unaware of any photographs of the actual dance-off.)

Tahaá's Motto. Not a bad lifestyle when you think about it.

We ended up staying for the entire
show, leaving Taha'a a little after midnight. Which is probably the
latest I have stayed out in a year. And while the thought of
attending a burlesque show might be off putting to some, I must
emphasize what a wonderful group the people involved were.

The dance
troupe (The Kiss and Tells) was professional and talented. (There were several other equally talented dancers whose names I did not catch. I apologize and blame the daiquiris.) The crowd was respectful and
engaged. The staff of the Tiki Bar, as always, were working their
butts off. (You see, the Tiki Bar specializes in mixed drinks like
Zombies, Mai Tai, Daiquiris and Volcano Bowls. All labor intensive
drinks. It would be so much easier for these ladies to work in a
place where they just had to pour a glass of wine or draw a beer. But
the fact is, they take a great deal of pride in making these authentic
Tiki Bar drinks. And believe me, it shows.)

To be able to spend an evening with
such a diverse, unique crowd of people. To watch as everyone laughed
and just enjoyed themselves. Well, that is exactly why I like to brag
on what a wonderful place we have here on the Coast of Illinois.

Oh, and as we were walking to our car,
the attractive young man who was a good 30 years younger them me,
waved me down and again told me what an awesome job I did in the
contest. I, of course, had to take his picture.

Adorable and polite. What more could you ask for!

And if you need the recipe for making Hemingway Daiquiris at your own Tiki Bar:
1.5 ounces white rum
1 ounce fresh lime juice
1/2 ounce simple syrup
1/4 ounce marachino liquer
1/4 ounce grapefruit juice
Pour all over crushed ice, shake and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.
Sit back, write a great American novel and enjoy.
But it still won't be nearly as good as the ones at Taha'a.

Saturday, July 4, 2015

This is how I have taken to responding
to anyone who wishes me a Great 4th! I am not sure why. It
just seems the thing to do this year. Honestly, I don't remember ever
being wished a 'Great 4th' as many times as I have over
the past few days.

~Ker-Pow!!
Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**

I sort of like it.

I'm not sure if it has to do with
everyone here on the Coast of Illinois being so happy and grateful
that it finally stopped raining. Or that, constitutionally, there is
actually a little reason be proud of our government. Or the fact that
we are all getting a little bit older and long for the carefree days
of youth when people were free to play Jarts with real pointed metal
ends, not the wimpy plastic ones out there now.

Old School Ice-Cream making at Grandma and Grandpa's farm. When else would you get the chance to eat rock salted ice chunks? Please note the bare feet - mine. And the milk carton under my Dad's hand. It is a frozen junk of ice which he is preparing to smash with the ball-peen hammer, next to my little brother's feet. GOOD times. (DO NOT take note of my overalls, or my hair. Please.)

The Fourth of July has been something
of a secondary holiday around our house. We always tried to do
holiday themed activities with our kids when they were home. You
know, BBQing dogs and brauts. Watching the neighbors as they shot off
fireworks. Taking bets on who was going to wind up in the hospital
with second degree burns from sparklers.

We had many happy evenings watching
fireworks from the Arch grounds, then Jefferson Ave, when the trees
got too tall and the crowds too large.

This was taken just a few years ago, from the top floor of a fancy riverfront hotel The ONLY way to watch fireworks!

There was a super fab year
when we braved the Midwestern Migration to Destin, Florida with some
friends and were treated to 2 hour drives to get exactly 4 miles down
the road to dinner but the fireworks over the bay more than made up
for it. (That and the trouble THEY all got into for having a water
gun fight from our fifth floor balcony with people in the parking
lot. And the trouble SOME PEOPLE got into while allowing their
children to play hide and seek, unattended in the hallway of the
condo. Seriously, we were on vacation. Our kids NEVER got into
trouble and they were thrilled to be the 'bad kids' for once!)

I was saddened at our semi-successful
attempt at croquet, not easy in our sloping, bumbey backyard. I grew up on a flat, cornfield-infested farm. My
sister and I spent HOURS playing croquet as kids. I could slam that
striped red ball through a wicket, bumping her striped green ball from
it's perfect set-up shot, from 100yards. Of course, she was a wiz at
blackballing me into the garden. (That's where, as a penalty, you get
to set your ball next to your opponent's, steady them with your foot
and WHALLOP your ball, thus, through physics, sending your
adversary's game winning shot down the proverbial toilet.)

Our kids never quite got the feel. We
played barefoot – it was important to learn precision. Our kids
were pampered. They never left the house without light-up sneakers on.

I ask you, where is the motivation to
not slam a swinging mallet into your baby toe???

Anyway.

As everyone in the house aged the
Fourth of July has become less of a big deal. I was the only one
scrambling from window to window to catch a glimpse of neighborhood
explosions. Brauts and dogs were replaced with more healthful
tilapia.

It just felt right that this year I
bring back a little of the fun that was the 4th. Thus my
awesome Fourth of July greeting.

~Ker-Pow!!
Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**

Yet, while out shopping with my
daughter on Friday, she gave me the fashion-appraisal once over, then
did a self-eval and noted that we were both very 'patriotically
dressed'. She in a faded red t-shirt and jeans, me in a faded
red/white jersey and jeans. Her shoes were blue, mine white.

~Ker-Pow!!
Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**

This morning I dumped my yogurt and
fruit into a bowl and noted:

I swear, this had to be subconscious. Also of note, the bowl is sitting on my kitchen table which sports a Fleur-de-Lis, the universal symbol of guillotine wielding Frenchwomen and St. Louis, MO.

~Ker-Pow!!
Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**

Perhaps the Fourth of July never really
lost it's significance after all.

~Ker-Pow!!
Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**

Have a safe and happy
Fourth of July!

From the Coast of Illinois

~Ker-Pow!!
Sprler-Whoosh!!~

**Exploding-One-Person-FistBump**

Okay, one more family photo. Me-Dad-Grandpa holding my brother, my Sister leaning in. All of us in front of a car which could sleep 10 comfortably. I am going to just embrace the overalls. I believe they actually had a little skirt attachment, for wearing to church or other formal functions. Also, they had not invented 'hair product' so I was stuck with Dippitey-Do and pink hair tape. My hair laughed at this. As did everyone else.

Blah Blah...

I'm a landlocked beach bum here on the Coast of Illinois. No...not that Coast, you know, the one with broad shoulders. The other Coast. The one with tug boats and Arches and a bunch of ancient dead guys buried in Mounds.
I am an inadvertent sailor-thanks to my husband and our 15 foot handmade wooden sloop...for which I made the sails!
I am here to promote the beach bum lifestyle, even when surrounded by corn and clay and I hope to point out the everyday weirdness that is easy to miss because once you start seeing hairnets, you will never stop seeing hairnets.

I have a palm tree necklace. It set us back a whole ten dollars, purchased on the boardwalk in Destin, Florida during the first trip ...

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Hey Europe!

Just got a notice, due to the high number of hits in Europe (!!!) that I am required to inform you that there may be cookies attached to this blog. I am told these are tracking cookies. I know. I was disappointed too. I was hoping for a nice gooey chocolate chip or Mexican chocolate. But, NO. There are no chocolate chip cookies. Just computer type cookies. I am not sure what else to do about this. If you are in Europe and reading my blog, first of all, THANKS! Secondly, if you are one of the half dozen Russian type porn sites, STOP IT. And thirdly, if you are one of my five relatives living in Europe, MISS YOU ALL AND LOVE YOU! If there is a problem please contact me Europe. I am a very delightful person and hope to visit you again one day.